


honey, sing it strong

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Cirilla needs a hobby, something of her own, and Geralt finds it in the form of a musician offering music lessons.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 15
Kudos: 421





	honey, sing it strong

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight / tumblr: korrmin

Geralt entered their small apartment and immediately dropped his bag, “Ciri!” he exclaimed, rushing over and snatching his sword out of her hands. She stared up at him, folding her arms over her chest. “How did you even - “ he began to ask, because he always put his swords up before he left, but then again _most_ thirteen years old didn’t have magical powers. He sighed. “I told you to stay out of my stuff.”

“But I was bored,” she huffed as she fell on the couch. “You promised you’d teach me how to hunt,” she continued. “But you never do.”

Geralt walked over and placed his sword back on a high shelf. A pointless fret.

“I said,” he corrected, “I’d teach you some stuff when you turned eighteen.” He turned toward her. “You are still a child, Ciri. You are not old enough to even _think_ about following in my footsteps.”

Cirilla groaned. “You won’t let me go to school - “

“You’re home schooled,” he interjected. 

She blatantly ignored him, “You won’t _teach_ me anything - “

“For your own safety,” he interjected again, walking over. He stared down at the young girl, all big emerald eyes and golden hair. He loved her in ways he never thought he could, and he truly wanted her to be happy. _That_ was why he was so strict. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Cirilla quickly sat up, looking surprised. Rightfully so; Geralt wasn’t big on apologizing. “I should’ve noticed you were feeling this way. It’s not healthy for a young girl, no matter the circumstances, to be so isolated.”

He sat down and Cirilla leaned against him. “I know you’re just protecting me,” she said. “It’s just... so _boring_.”

Geralt snorted. She might not have been his daughter by blood, but she certainly took after him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm. “I’ll think of something, okay? For now just trust me?” he said, phrased as a question.

Cirilla leaned up and pecked his cheek. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

Geralt hunted for the betterment of society, not money. Witchers weren’t even acknowledged by the government or most of the world. But sadly money was needed, especially if he hoped for Cirilla to have a decent life. So, most days, he was a mechanic.

After work, he stopped by a store and grabbed dinner.

He normally never would’ve noticed the board hanging outside the shop, protected from the rain by an awning. But for some reason he did that day and he stopped, looking at all the posters.

Most of them were for missing animals or people selling stuff, but then -

There was a new one, untouched. Music lessons. Geralt snorted, turning away. Cirilla was about as musical as him, which was _not at all._ He couldn’t even hum a beat. _But_... he could also imagine beating on some drums or wildly strumming a guitar would be therapeutic for the young girl.

Shrugging, he read the rest of the advertisement skeptically.

_Will take cash or fine wine._

Geralt snorted again. That was sketchy as fuck. Without really knowing why, he took one of the offered cards.

Geralt entered their apartment and immediately pressed a hand to his forehead. The living room was covered in paint. “Ciri,” he said through clenched teeth. “Do I even want to know what you were thinking?”

Her head popped out of the hallway. “Um. I was painting,” she said, pointing.

“You couldn’t paint... on paper?” he asked slowly, pushing his anger down.

Cirilla stepped out of the hallway, wringing her hands. “Um. Well, that was certainly an option.”

Geralt sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. He loved Cirilla, truly, more than he loved himself, but she had a knack for pushing his buttons. He supposed all children did. He turned away and walked to the kitchen. “Come on; I bought pizza.”

After cooking the pizza, he sliced it and they both sat together on the couch.

“So,” he said, suddenly remembering the card in his pocket. “You enjoy painting.” He stared at a particularly nasty stain in the carpet. He would certainly need Yennefer’s ( _magical_ ) help to deal with that. “Obviously.”

Cirilla smiled sheepishly around a mouthful of crust. “Yup.”

“Have you ever thought about playing an instrument?” he asked, aiming for casual and probably failing.

Cirilla perked up. “Drums,” she said instantly. “I wanna be able to hit things and, like, _not_ get yelled at for it.”

Geralt knew that was a conversation for later. Cirilla certainly was taking after him. He nudged her. “Well, I’m not positive drums are on the table,” he admitted, “but I found this.” Shifting, he took the card out of his pocket. Cirilla grabbed it. “I was thinking we - well, _I_ could call and see if it’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes, oh my God.”

Geralt smiled, small and sincere. Cirilla looked up, eyes twinkling, and threw herself at him. His plate - and the pizza - fell to the floor. He should’ve been angry - new stains, for sure - but perhaps he was growing too soft because all he felt was fondness for the young girl.

He hugged her back. “I’ll call tomorrow, see if we can schedule something for Friday.”

“Thank you,” she squealed into his neck. 

Geralt was not much better at Cirilla in terms of socializing. To be fair, she had her reasons. He did not; he just fucking sucked at it. He took a deep breath and entered the number. A few rings later and the person picked up, “Hello?”

He had a surprisingly nice voice. He definitely didn’t _sound_ like a threat, but Geralt was a hunter - he knew better than to trust first impressions. Some of the cruelest monsters looked innocent enough.

“You’re offering music lessons, right?” he said, straight to the point.

The person didn’t reply for a few seconds and when they - _he_ \- did it was through soft laughter, “That’s me, yes. You saw my poster, I’m assuming? I - I honestly didn’t think I’d get a call.”

“My... daughter,” he said slowly. “She’s interested in learning an instrument.”

Geralt vaguely remembered the name at the bottom of the poster: _Julian_.

“Oh,” Julian breathed. “That’s wonderful. Well, I work for myself, so I’m free most days, just not nights, but I doubt you’d want lessons during the night, anyway, so just let me know and - “

“Friday,” he interrupted, an amused quirk to his lips. “Does that work?”

Julian took a breather. “Oh, Friday is good. How about four? After school?”

Geralt shifted on his feet, “She’s home schooled,” he said. “Two?”

“Okay,” Julian replied brightly. “Sounds good. Did you want to meet at my place?” Before Geralt could even reply, he continued, “Actually, don’t answer that. I understand that sounds sketchy. How about your place?”

Geralt smiled a little wider. “And what about your own safety?”

“Oh.” Julian hummed. “Point taken.”

Geralt snorted, “There’s a cafe near my place - Rivia - how about we meet there?”

“Okay,” Julian agreed. “Friday, two PM. See you then... _uh_.”

“Geralt,” he said, taking pity on him. 

There was a pause. “Okay. See you then, Geralt. By the way,” he lowered his voice. “The poster says Julian, but that was just because I wanted to sound professional. My friends call me Jaskier.”

Geralt debated telling him they _weren’t_ friends. But Jaskier hung up before he could say much of anything. He rolled his eyes and tucked his phone in his pocket. He startled when he saw Cirilla standing in the doorway, smiling.

“What?” he said gruffly.

She grinned, looking too much like Yennefer. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.”

Yennefer visited on Thursday and Cirilla excitedly told her the news. “Oh,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You’re an idiot,” she said, directed at Geralt. “Now you’ll be stuck with her banging on drums all day and all night.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, a little too honestly, “as long as she’s happy.”

They turned to look at the young girl, flipping through a book on the floor. They were both sitting on the couch.

Yennefer’s eyes softened; it was an unfitting look for the woman. “And to think,” she said, “you didn’t even want to adopt her at first.” She brushed black curls off her shoulders, looking pleased with herself. “I’m waiting.”

Geralt ignored her. Yennefer, his oldest and truest friend, had been the one who convinced him to adopt. He had _thought_ about for years before he finally went through with it. He wanted a family, but thought he wasn’t a good fit for a father, but Yennefer had smacked - _literally_ \- his self-doubt out of him.

He _was_ grateful to her for it. But they weren’t friends who talked about _feelings_.

“Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I get it. Just be safe, okay?” She nudged him. “You know better than most the _real_ dangers of this world.”

Geralt nudged her back. “I’m not stupid; I’ll bring one of my daggers with me.”

He preferred his swords for official hunts, but he also had small daggers for more _discreet_ matters. Yennefer nodded, looking pleased.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, pointing at the stain. “Can you get rid of that?”

Yennefer sighed heavily. “I am a fucking _sorceress_ , Geralt, not a maid.”

Rivia was a small, but beloved cafe near their apartment. He often visited with Cirilla, who was not allowed coffee because 1) she was young and 2) she was annoying enough without it. Geralt entered first, holding her hand, and looked around for any sight of Julian - or, well, Jaskier, he supposed. No one held up a hand or waved them over.

“Come on,” he said, tugging her toward the counter. “We can order something while we wait.”

Cirilla got a pastry as big as her head and Geralt ordered coffee, black but with extra whipped cream on top. They sat, and Cirilla stared at his drink with disgust.

“What’s the point of all the cream if the coffee is bitter?”

He took a sip, licking his lips. “ _Balance_ , Cirilla,” he said with an amused huff.

It wasn’t until ten after two that Jaskier showed up. Geralt knew it was him instantly because there was a guitar on his back. He was younger than he had expected, somehow, with light skin and messy brown hair. He looked like one of Yennefer’s victims - ah, _lovers_.

He raised a hand and the musician walked over, smiling brightly.

“Geralt, right?” he said, and Geralt nodded, a silent reply. Jaskier pulled over a chair and sat down, shoving his bag between his legs. He turned to look at Cirilla with a grin. “You must be my new protégé,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Jaskier.”

Cirilla took his hand, shaking. “Cirilla,” she said, bright and friendly. “But you can call me Ciri.”

“Got it,” he replied.

She looked at his bag. “Um. Is that a guitar?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, still grinning. “I play.” Her eyes widened, sparkling with interest. “Is that something you’re interested in?” he asked softly. “The guitar?”

Cirilla fidgeted with what was left of her pastry. “I didn’t think so?” she admitted. “But kind of, yeah.”

“Cirilla,” Geralt said, breaking the moment. “Shouldn’t you offer to - ” he nodded at the counter.

She jumped out of her chair. “Right,” she said brightly. “Jaskier, did you want something?” He hesitated, and she slapped a hand down on his shoulder. “I’ll get you what I would drink if dad wasn’t such a sourpuss,” she said brightly. “Be right back.”

She ran off to the counter. Jaskier blinked once. “She’s…”

“Yeah,” Geralt said knowingly. “But she’s a good kid.”

Jaskier smiled, shifting in his chair. He idly played with the zipper of his bag. “So - ”

“I don’t have enough money for this,” Geralt said, honest as ever.

Jaskier’s hands stilled. “Oh.”

“I mean, I’m a mechanic. I don’t - ”

Jaskier leaned forward, “You don’t have to pay.” He seemed surprised as soon as the words left his mouth, but he quickly covered his tracks by clearing his throat. “Didn’t you read the poster?” he said. “Cash _or_ fine wine,” he smiled, slow. “Or fine company.”

“You don’t need the money?” he asked skeptically.

Jaskier tilted his head back and forth. “I mean, I do. I’m a starving artist. Emphasis on the _starving_ , but….” He glanced over at Cirilla, who was bouncing on her feet, waiting by the counter. “I could make an exception.”

“You’re too soft,” he said bluntly.

Jaskier looked back, an amused quirk to his lips. “Do you want my help or not?”

“I do,” he replied quickly. “Ciri needs… _something_ of her own.”

Jaskier nodded, once. “It’s decided, then. I’ll teach her the guitar and you’ll pay me in company.”

Geralt’s mouth fell open. “Wait, you weren’t joking about that?”

Cirilla popped back in. “Joking about what?” she asked brightly, placing the drink in front of Jaskier. It was colorful and topped with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles. When no one answered, she plopped in her chair with a pout. “ _Geralt_.”

“He agreed to give you lessons, Ciri,” he said finally.

She grinned. “Really?” she asked. “Yay!”

Jaskier didn’t actually ask for much, though. He visited once a week and taught Cirilla on his guitar. Geralt would sit by and watch, an amused quirk to his lips because she was absolutely _terrible_. But Jaskier was patient and sweet, teaching her the basics again and again and never getting impatient when she messed up. Then, when they were finished, she’d disappear to her room and they’d sit together for an hour or so, usually just talking about her progress.

Like tonight.

“She’s stubborn,” Jaskier said. “That’s a good quality for musicians.”

Geralt snorted as he returned from the kitchen, holding two beers. “It’s not fine wine,” he said.

Jaskier accepted one of the beers. “Good enough.”

Sitting on the couch, he kept a cushion length between them. Geralt took a swig and sighed, “Thank you,” he said, meaning it. “She never shuts up about playing nowadays. She’s obsessed,” he said, smiling a bit. “I’ve never seen her so happy.”

“I know you don’t think so,” he replied lightly, “but she’s actually a pretty fast learner.”

Geralt shrugged, taking another gulp. He didn’t know anything about music. “You mentioned you’re a starving artist, right?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Jaskier pursed his lips. “I play at local bars and stuff, but…” He looked over at him. “I don’t think I’ll ever make a career out of it.”

“You don’t know that,” he replied, the words spilling out on their own. “I don’t know literally anything about music,” he admitted sheepishly. “But from what I’ve heard, you’re not bad.” Actually, Jaskier was amazing. He’d played a few times for Cirilla, and Geralt had pretended not to listen while doing exactly that. “Do you just play the guitar or…”

Jaskier looked away, cheeks pink. “Um. Well, not exactly. I sing a bit.”

“You _what?”_

They both turned to look at the girl in the doorway. Jaskier laughed a bit. “You heard me,” he said as she scurried to the center of the room.

“ _Well?_ ” she prompted impatiently. “I wanna hear it.”

Geralt should’ve stopped her, but his own curiosity got in the way.

“I’m not that good,” he said.

Cirilla stomped her foot. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said breezily.

Jaskier laughed, light and airy. “Well, okay, if you insist.” He took another sip of beer, cleared his throat, and began to sing. He was obviously a bit tipsy, stammering over his words, but there was no denying he sounded _amazing_. When he stopped, a few verses later, he smiled awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” she exclaimed. “That was - _wow!_ Right, Geralt?”

Geralt nodded, not trusting his words. “Ciri,” he said sternly. “You should go back to bed, okay?”

She pouted, but left the room. A few seconds later, he heard her door slam. It was silent. Jaskier took another sip of his beer.

“What song was that?” he asked eventually.

Jaskier shrugged, “Just something I’ve been working on.”

“Wait,” Geralt perked up. “You wrote that?”

Jaskier shrugged again, looking shy. “It’s not polished or - or anything. I’ve never even played it.”

“But I thought you said you played at local bars and stuff,” he said, not understanding.

Jaskier fidgeted with the neck of the beer, held between his thighs. “I don’t play… _my_ stuff at the bars,” he said, gesturing. “I do, like, covers and stuff.”

“Oh.” Geralt looked away. “Why not?”

Jaskier hummed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Just kind of… never saw the point, I guess. A lot of my stuff is personal. Like, _really_ personal.” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “I just always assumed no one would want to hear it.”

Geralt nodded. “Well, you’ll never know unless you try,” he said.

“Yeah,” Jaskier breathed. “You’re right.”

Weeks of lessons turned to months. On the fifth month, Jaskier asked Geralt if he’d accompany him to a bar that weekend. Geralt was surprised, to say the least. They had grown closer over the months - Geralt would even dare say they were friends, but it was exactly because of that Jaskier should’ve known Geralt hated bars.

But then, “I’m going to play one of my songs.”

Geralt didn’t even have to think twice about his answer, not after that, “Yeah, okay.”

Yennefer walked out of the hallway. “She’s asleep.” She paused at the sight of Geralt. “You’re not wearing _that,”_ she eyed him skeptically. “Right?”

He was in a t-shirt and jeans and his usual boots. “Why?” he asked gruffly.

“I mean,” Yennefer walked over. “You could at least _try_.” She pulled a jacket off the hooks near the door. Geralt’s leather jacket. “Here, try this.”

He accepted the jacket. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”

Yennefer grinned like a shark. “You’re not that dumb,” she purred. But then, “Fuck, Geralt. _Seriously?_ ” Geralt didn’t say anything. He knew if he waited long enough she would explain. She slapped his arm. “He asked you out on a _date_ , Geralt,” she hissed.

Geralt blinked. “Yen, you’re misunderstanding,” he said breezily. “We’re just friends.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I dare you to say that again,” she remarked, “with _confidence_.”

Geralt opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. He was suddenly remembering things from their nights together, drinking beer and laughing. Jaskier’s eyes sparkling with amusement and - and _fondness_. His hand falling on Geralt’s arm and lingering there for a second before pulling away, an almost shy quirk to his lips.

“Fuck,” he said.

Yennefer grinned. “Fuck,” she agreed. “Cirilla’s music teacher has a crush on you. How quaint.”

Geralt stared down at his leather jacket, clutched between his hands. “That’s not the problem.” Geralt remembered the warmth of Jaskier’s hand on his arm, the sweet way he laughed at Geralt’s dull jokes, the way he interacted with Cirilla, like he adored her. “I think I - ” he stopped, cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God,” she said, opening the door. “Just _go_.”

Geralt hesitated for a second. “Thanks for watching her, Yen.”

She shoved his shoulder. “ _Go_ ,” she repeated impatiently. “Get your man.”

The bar wasn’t anything special, a small building tucked away in the city. Geralt walked in, hoping he could talk to Jaskier before he performed but he was too late; the aforementioned man was already up on the rickety stage, guitar hanging from the strap over his shoulder. Geralt sat at the bar, and they met eyes over the endless sea of heads.

Geralt smiled, small, and Jaskier grinned brightly. His heart squeezed at the sight.

“I’ve played at this bar for years,” Jaskier said to the mic. “But tonight… will be _different_.”

Jaskier started to play. He played a few cords, shifted on his feet. Then, finally, his lips parted and he started to sing. Jaskier had played a few songs for him over the months, but this wasn’t any of them - it was new, and full of emotion. Most of the lyrics were abstract, about first loves and feelings you couldn’t explain.

He stared at Geralt, singing clearly and confidently. Geralt wanted to run up and kiss him. (He didn’t.)

Afterwards, the bar erupted in cheers, the patrons hooting and hollering. Jaskier laughed brightly, eyes twinkling, as he descended the steps. Geralt was already standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for him. Jaskier sucked his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What did you think?” he asked, chewing on his lip.

Geralt stared at his mouth. “I think,” he said slowly, “you should’ve told me how you felt.”

“But didn’t I?” he asked, a bit cheeky. “Weren’t you listening?” Geralt reached out, hesitating with his hand lingering midair. Jaskier stepped forward. “Go ahead,” he said. “Do it.”

Geralt slipped his hand around to the back of Jaskier’s neck and yanked him forward, their lips brushing.

“Is this okay?” he asked, foreheads pressed together. It was a loaded question; Geralt hadn’t dated in years. He didn’t even know what Cirilla would think. Not to mention, he was interested in dating her _music teacher._

Jaskier reached up, cupping the sides of his face. His fingertips were surprisingly calloused, probably from years of playing. “I think you’re underestimating her,” he whispered, like he knew exactly what he was thinking. “Come on.”

“But - ”

Jaskier nosed at his jaw, “I know we’ve never _been_ there,” he whispered, “but I _do_ have a place of my own.”

Geralt swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Oh. Right.” He squeezed the back of Jaskier’s neck. “Lead the way.”

Geralt texted Yennefer he’d be back later than expected before tossing his phone to the floor. Jaskier laughed, perched in his lap. “Do you know how long I’ve been wanting to do this?” he asked, shifting in his lap. Geralt groaned like it’d been punched out of him.

“You’re telling me,” he said, sneaking his hands under Jaskier’s shirt, “we could’ve _already_ been doing this?”

Jaskier laughed again, light and airy, and leaned down, their noses bumping together. “I didn’t even know you were gay,” he paused. “Sorry, that was presumptuous of me.” He kissed the corner of his mouth. “But you know what I mean.”

Geralt’s fingers splayed out across the smooth skin of Jaskier’s neck. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I do.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier nipped at his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and tugging. “Should we wait?”

Geralt almost laughed/sobbed. He tugged him closer. “Absolutely not. I want you on my cock, like, right now.”

“Hey,” Jaskier laughed against his cheek. “Who said _I’d_ be one taking it?”

Geralt reached down, slow, slow, and cupped his ass through his jeans. Jaskier moaned, eyelashes fluttering. “Sorry, was that _presumptuous_ of me?”

“You’re the worst,” he panted. “Now take your fucking shirt off.”

Afterwards, they laid together in Jaskier’s bed. Geralt wasn’t used to this - _any_ of it. Jaskier had, politely, not mentioned any of his scars. But he knew the man had to be curious. Geralt glanced at Jaskier, who was curled up with his head resting on Geralt’s shoulder.

“When should we tell her?” he asked.

Jaskier sighed softly, “She’s your daughter,” he said. “It’s your decision.”

Geralt nodded, rubbing his arm. “Okay.” His chest was warm. “Soon, then. I don’t want to hide this from her, especially considering, uh.” He felt shy all of a sudden. “I haven’t dated, not since I adopted her. She deserves to know the truth.”

“That’s sweet,” he replied, and it didn’t sound condescending coming from the singer. He kissed his shoulder. “Maybe next week, after her lesson?”

Geralt nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He cleared his throat, wondering how Cirilla would react. “Sounds good.”

Shockingly, she was happy. But on top of that she wasn’t surprised. Geralt squinted at her. “Spill.”

She shuffled her feet. “I might’ve been spying on you guys,” she admitted, looking away. Suddenly he noticed, properly, the bags under her eyes.

“Ciri,” he said tersely. “That’s wrong on so many levels.”

He looked over at Jaskier, who was covering his mouth, shoulders trembling with laughter. Geralt sighed heavily and beckoned her closer. He hugged her lightly and kissed the top of her head. She hugged him back. “Sorry,” she muttered, muffled by his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Just don’t do it again.”

She nodded and pulled back, looking between them. “You will still teach me, right?”

Jaskier nodded without missing a beat. “I might even be over more than once a week,” he said, waggling his eyebrows with a coy grin.

Geralt watched their interaction, feeling warm and content. Except - there was something missing; the truth. Jaskier pulled him out of his thoughts, kissing his jaw. He looked around and noticed Cirilla had left, probably to her room.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. “You kind of blacked out for a moment there.”

Geralt wrapped an arm around his shoulders, burying his face in his hair. He smelled of oak and honey.

“Yeah,” he answered roughly. “Just thinking.”

Jaskier seemed satisfied with that, thankfully. Geralt had never told another person about the truth - the truth about himself, about Cirilla, about the world. He never felt compelled to. Yennefer had known before they met, so he’d never even told her. But there was a first for everything, right?

Yennefer was actually - for once - surprisingly helpful. She sat with him on the couch, drinking something fruity. “ _Wait_ ,” she said, uncharacteristically soft. “I don’t expect you to never tell him the truth, but you can’t just make a habit of blurting the truth the second you start sleeping with someone.”

He hated that she had a point. He took a swig of beer. “But when do I know it’s the right moment?”

“You’ll know,” she said, annoyingly cryptic. “Just wait.”

Weeks turned to months, and Geralt was the happiest he’d been… _ever_. He had a wonderful partner, who stayed over most nights. A daughter, who was thriving. He had even started taking her out more, because she was getting a better control over her powers.

During one of their outings, she even met a boy named Dara and they were quick best friends.

But then -

He returned after a hunt in the middle of the night. His phone had died during the hunt, and when he plugged it in, he realized he had several missed texts and calls from Jaskier. He read one text and his stomach lurched painfully.

 _Fuck_.

He quickly called him back. Jaskier answered after a few rings.

“Geralt,” he said, perfectly even. “I think we need to talk.”

He stared at the spot on the carpet that Yennefer had (magically) cleaned months earlier. “Okay. When?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied. It wasn’t a question. Without waiting for a reply, he hung up.

Geralt pressed a hand to his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. He heard soft footsteps and turned. Cirilla stood in the doorway.

“Hey,” she said. “How was - ” She stopped. “Are you okay?”

Geralt walked over and sat on the couch, which sunk under his weight. Cirilla joined him, and he realized finally what she was talking about. His cheeks were damp. He hadn’t cried in years. _Decades_. Silently, Cirilla wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, burying his face in her hair. They sat like that, silent, for hours.

Geralt opened the door and frowned at Jaskier. He looked _wrong_ , dark circles under his eyes, hair messy and not in the purposeful way. “Hey,” he greeted softly. Jaskier smiled, tight around the edges, and walked through the door to linger, standing, in the middle of the living room.

Yennefer had taken Cirilla for the day, giving them the privacy Geralt assumed they would need.

He walked over, approaching the singer, “Jaskier, I’m sorry I forgot about our date - ”

He threw a hand in the air, stopping him. “Don’t,” he said through clenched teeth. “It’s not just yesterday, Geralt,” he continued, tugging at his hair. “You are _always_ missing stuff, leaving randomly, and - and I wanted to be understanding, but I’m starting to think you’re hiding something from me. Something you don’t want me to know, and…”

Geralt realized he was crying. He wanted to punch himself for ever making Jaskier want to cry.

“Do you not want this, Geralt?” he asked quietly, gesturing between them. “Because if you don’t - ”

Geralt reached out, fast, and grabbed his hand. Jaskier sniffed. “I want this,” he said, meaning it. “I do.”

“Okay,” Jaskier said, nodding. He squared his shoulders and sniffed again, wiping his eyes. “But you understand, right?” he asked, searching his face. His eyes were watery and red. Geralt reached up and gently thumbed a tear from his cheek. “I’m not worried for nothing. You’re a _mechanic_ , Geralt, so why are you always disappearing like that? Forgetting our plans?”

Geralt remembered Yennefer’s words: _You’ll know._

He took a deep breath and walked over to the couch, tugging Jaskier with him. He sat, and Jaskier joined him. He grabbed Jaskier’s hand again, needing the contact. Jaskier didn’t pull away. “I _have_ been hiding something from you,” he admitted, hating the way Jaskier’s eyes widened, watering again. He squeezed his hand lightly. “Nothing bad.”

Well, not really. Kind of. He still didn’t know what kind of reaction to expect.

Jaskier nodded slowly, not saying anything.

Geralt smiled tightly. “I’m not - well, exactly _human_.” He waited. Jaskier stared at him, silent and unblinking. “Cirilla and Yennefer also aren’t human. They’re sorceresses. Kind of. Cirilla is technically a Source, but - ” He sighed, stroking the back of Jaskier’s hand with his thumb. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Okay.” Jaskier said and then, genuinely shocking Geralt, he started to laugh. “Oh, thank God.”

Geralt blinked, once. “Uh.”

Jaskier looked up, eyes bright. “I thought you were cheating on me or something.”

“Jaskier,” he said, slowly. “I just told you the world’s biggest secret, and your reaction is… to _laugh?_ ”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Jaskier cleared his throat. “Wow!”

Geralt snorted, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders. Jaskier grinned, toothy, and he realized then that he had done the right thing. Jaskier was not some fling; he was more than that. He squeezed his hand again.

“Oh, but I do have a question.” Jaskier scooted closer, their thighs pressing together. “What are _you?_ ”

Geralt had almost forgotten. “Right. I’m a Witcher.” At Jaskier’s confused look, he specified, “Basically a hunter. I hunt and kill monsters. Not all of them, just the dangerous ones. That’s why I run off so much; to take care of them.”

Jaskier leaned his head on Geralt’s shoulders, batting his eyelashes. He grinned slowly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “What you’re _saying_ is that I’m basically dating a superhero.”

Geralt barked out a laugh that surprised even himself, “You are such an _odd_ person.”

“Mmm,” he replied. “Is that a problem?”

Geralt leaned down and kissed him, brief and soft, on the lips. “No,” he said gruffly. “Not at all.”


End file.
